Weaving Lives
by Magi Silverwolf
Summary: Desperation can lead to interesting situations. Not a romance.
1. Disclaimer

Summary: Six years have past since the Final Battle. The Wizarding world is safe. Those who were on the front lines are now heroes, even if they fell. Life must move on, though, no matter how hard it is to let the dead go. That's what prompted Hermione to seek out the help of the medi-witch. Due to the time turner research she does for the Department of Mysteries, she finds herself seven years older than her contemparies. She wants a child of her own.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. And I'm not making any money off of the use of the characters found with the pages of that series.  
  
Author's Warnings: This is a work in progress. I may go back and change chapters later on. I might even add information that is necessary to the plot. I will list the chapters that have been changed after the original publishing of them here. Also if you notice anything like typos, grammar and spelling mistakes, please tell me so that I can fix them.  
  
Update: Posting on and first chapter  
  
Spoilers: This story contains spoilers for Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Prisoner of Azkaban, Goblet of Fire, and Order of the Phoenix.  
  
Rating: This story is rated PG-13 due to content that some children due to maturity level should not be exposed to. Rating may later go up.  
  
Reviews: Please review. Do you like it? Hate it? Is this part or another unclear? Do I have them stay in character? If not, do I explain why this behavior is different? Please, tell me how I'm doing. Oh, and another thing: I love reviews, but if asked what will happen in the story, I won't respond. Please, just read the story to find out. Patience is a virtue, after all. Review responses will be emailed to you.  
  
Giving Credit: I get plot bunnies from everywhere. Some included in this story are from other fanfiction stories. I also take information from these stories if I like that particular 'fact'. That mostly is about names and creatures for a particular book the students will be studying. Most are good stories. I suggest reading them sometime. The list is in my favorite stories in my profile. The only one not there is 'In Need', was stored on  
  
Quotes: I will be starting each chapter off with a quote that I feel fits the chapter. Feel free to correct me, if you feel that I am wrong--it would also be helpful if you gave me a more appropriate quote. However, I will not use full songs or long poems as quotes.  
  
Content Warning: This story contains references to homosexuality, single parenthood, magic (duh), and other subject matters that some people might find objectable.  
  
Language Warning: I cannot promise to watch my language--English or otherwise.  
  
I hope you enjoy this story. And now, may I present:  
  
Weaving Lives 


	2. Gathering Courage

"The thing about trains is it doesn't matter where they're going. What matters is deciding to get on." --'The Polar Express'

Chapter One: Gathering Courage

She stood nervously in the lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Inside the long sleeves of her periwinkle cloak, her hands plucked at each other as she tried to gather the shreds of her infamous Gryffindor courage. The waiting room was busy with patients of magical burns as it always was at this time of year. Unconsciously, she tugged the ambiguousness of her cloak's hood farther down her face, seeking to hide in its comforting shadows.

She knew why she formed the habit. Ever since Voldemort's defeat at the end of their seventh year, both Harry and Hermione had become heroes. There was nowhere they could go without hoards of witches and wizards surrounding them, wanting to hear the story of the Final Fall; or reporters out for an exclusive to make their careers. Complete strangers had proposed to her, wishing only to marry her name. Even time hadn't reduced the magical world's reaction. Hermione doubted that would change until all those who had been touched one way or another by Voldemort were gone.

A year after graduation, Harry gave up on his dream of a 'normal' life and became a recluse somewhere in the many isles surrounding Great Britain. The only time he left was for his obligatory appearance at the annual Rembrance Ball every fall. Hermione, meanwhile, became very proficient with glamours and collected numerous cloaks for the occasion that she couldn't wear the glamours. Still, there were times when both friends thought that maybe life would be better if they had been martyred along with (or perhaps instead of) Ron.

"Excuse me, dearie, but I must get through."

Hermione quickly stepped aside to allow the old woman passage. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the little girl that the woman had in tow. The child couldn't be more than seven judging by the high-pitched giggle erupting from her smiling, rosebud mouth. The odd thing, though, was the yellow feathers covering her downy cheeks. Wide, blue eyes tilted up at Hermione innocently. Recognition blossomed in those untainted eyes. The mouth split into an even wider grin. The girl looked so much like a young version of Marguerite it almost hurt.

"Canary Creams and Tickling Charms don't mix."

"Is that what happened?" Hermione asked, coming back to herself. At the other woman's nod, the Gryffindor made a mental note to talk to Fred and George the first chance she got about this side effect. Hermione planned out her advice as she watched the pair move off towards the stairs. Obviously, this wasn't the first time that this had happened. Just before she disappeared, the little girl turned back and waved at Hermione. It was just the reminder that she needed of why she had come. She took a deep breath and approached the information desk.

"Um, excuse me..." The Welcome Witch paused filing her nails to give Hermione a bored look. Hermione felt those shreds that she had to work so hard to gather struggling to escape. "I'm not quite sure where to go. Where would Specialty Magic be?"

The plump blonde set her emery board down sharply. Eyes highlighted with too much kohl glared at Hermione. It was simple to deduce that the other witch was angry, but Hermione couldn't fathom what had made her so. Hermione felt the familiar curiosity take a hold of her. As if to answer Hermione's unspoken question, the blonde snapped out a surly reply.

"Look, lady, no one will help you have Harry Potter's baby. So take your scam and scram."

"I'm not here for a scam," Hermione replied coolly. Very deliberately she placed her left hand on the desk. The overweight witch stared at the Arcanic Rune burned blackly on the back of her delicate-seeming hand. In the last twenty years, only four such markings had been burned into flesh and all of them were burned on the day of the Final Battle. Only two of those four still lived, still existed. "And I'll be sure to tell Harry that his honor is being well-guarded."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Granger. Specialty Magic is on the fourth floor. I can get someone to show--"

"Thank you for your time."

-­/--/-­-/-­-/-­-/-­

It had started the summer between sixth and seventh year.

Harry had gone back to Private Drive to renew the wards one last time. Ron had gone with him for a few nights before going ahead to the Burrow to prepare for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Seeing a last chance to have a meaningful visit to her family, she had gone to her family's little house in a town about two hours north of London. When her visit was cut short by Death Eater, McGonagall gave her two choices: Hogwarts or the new Headquarters (an undisclosed location). Not wanting her little sister exposed to the War anymore than the child needed to be, Hermione opted for Hogwarts.

When the Ministry tried to take custody of Rity on the basis of Hermione's age, McGonagall had been a strong ally. Even so, the staunch Headmistress only managed to help Hermione gain temporary custody until the Ministry could locate their maternal grandmother. Harriette Cooper, or Naman as she was commonly known, had been traveling with the troop that year. It wasn't in a Gypsy's nature to have a schedule. The Ministry ended up closing the case and filing for custody of the remaining Granger minor. Hermione had to borrow Hedwig to get a letter to Naman. Her sister and she were just a much political pawns as Harry was, but Hermione was _not_ going to let Rity be used that way.

But her letter to Naman was still four months away when she found the footnote. Hermione had taken advantage of the lessened security around the Restricted Section to do a bit of freelance research. Rity, who had clung like a leech the days they had spent at the Burrow after the attack, had long since discovered Hagrid and Fang. The half-giant and the six-year-old had instantly latched onto each other. Hermione could only hope Hagrid didn't show Rity anything too 'perfectly harmless'.

Harry and Ron would arrive in a couple of weeks to start their final year of schooling. It wasn't originally the plan, but as improvising go, it wasn't bad. It was just that it was as far as they could get. They had no plan now. They didn't know where the final Horcruxes were, let alone what was one. The Restricted Section had little on the subject. McGonagall wouldn't allow her access to Professor Snape's abandoned library. They were coming up with nothing.

But the footnote about the Runes had changed everything.

She could still remember the book she had found it in. The aging parchment had crinkled under her fingers as if it would turn to dust right then and there. The dried-out leather binding had sucked moisture from her hands like a vampire sucking blood. The topic of the book had been like many of the books in the Restricted Section: _Dark_. It had been about the magical practices of a species of magical non-humans called the Daemon.

"Fascinating reading, really," she would later tell Harry and Ron. "It's rare that an entire culture chooses to specialize in Dark Magic. I wonder if it's some kind of genetic thing--not a flaw, but a--"

"The Runes, 'Mione, what did it say about the Runes?"

She had recognized one of the many rituals outlined in the book from Harry's interview in the Quibbler. There had been an almost invisible mark at the end of the paragraph. Time had worn it away. The footnote was equally faded, just the barest hint of undoing the magic used to conjure Voldemort's new body and destroy any thing connected to soul within that body. That glimmer of hope had shaped the next year of the Trio's study efforts...and the rest of their lives.

And it was such a small thing.


	3. Life's A Struggle

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." --Robert Frost

Chapter Two: Life's a Struggle

Nerves overcame her one more when she reached the fourth floor. Only sheer will got her past Ward Forty-Nine. For a moment she was tempted to drop in on the elder Longbottoms, then she recalled that they no longer dwelled there, that in their place was Narcissa Malfoy. So much had happed in those last years at Hogwarts, and in the six years since the Final Battle. So much had changed. The deep breath she took before pushing open the door to the Specialty Magic clinic did nothing to calm her.

"Hullo and welcome to Specialty Magic. How may I help you?"

The greeting had the almost-bored quality that oft-repeated sayings got over time, but the red-haired witch's smile was sincere. The azure robes she had on went well with her eyes. Hermione had to swallow some bile that threatened to gag her when she opened her mouth to return the greeting. Merlin! She would rather be facing down Voldemort again.

"Um," she managed, "conception magic?"

The wobbly question caused an instant transformation in the receptionist. The smile disappeared. The grimace that replaced it was one of long-term annoyance. The blue eyes closed as she seemed to count. When she spoke again, it was in a plastic voice.

"Now you see here, Miss--"

"Granger."

"Miss Granger, we cannot arrange for you to carry the heir of a famous person unless you have a signed and authenticated contract with said person--Granger? Surely not _Hermione_ Granger?"

"That's me."

"_The_ Hermione Granger?"

"Yep."

Hermione pushed the familiar comfort of the hood away from her face. It fell to her shoulders, revealing the tell-tale mop of wild brown hair. As if the other witch needed any farther proof of Hermione's identity, Hermione slipped off her cloak. Her muggle sundress revealed the scrolling lacework covering her left arm like an inky shadow before ending at her wrist, except for two tendrils that formed the Rune on the middle of her hand, one on back and one on the palm. The lacework also crawled over her shoulders and up the side of her neck. Half of her chin was covered as well. All of it was elegantly graceful and exactly drawn. Even the spot where Voldemort's portion had spattered on her had a flawless shape. She knew because Harry had told her so. She had been concerned, she recalled as she hung up her cloak, when Harry's markings had begun to fade, but hers remained. But at least she now knew how Harry had felt all those years when people stared at his scar.

It almost made her long for her customary glamours. Without those glamours, and now her cloak, she felt naked, exposed in ways that going without her wand during the dark years of the Second War had never made her feel. She could feel the weight of the receptionist's awed stare. Hermione forced herself to act like she didn't notice, to nonchalantly turn from the rack by the door to face the other witch.

"I am so sorry, Miss Granger," the redhead said in a horrified whisper. She instantly conjured a not-so-small stack of paperwork which she handed to Hermione. "Here's your paperwork. I really am sorry--"

"Do you have a quill I can borrow?"

-/-­-/-­-/-­-/-­-/-­

So much had happened in the years since the start of the Second War.

Both sides lost people, every single of them important. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott died defending a trio of third years that should not have ever been involved in the Final Battle. Two of those thirteen-year-olds, Euan Abercrombie and Rose Zeller, had died despite the Hufflepuff couple's sacrifice. The third child, a Gryffindor named Nathalie McDonald, had been used by Zacharias Smith to take out her partners-in-crime as well as the Patil sisters. Dean Thomas took a Killing Curse that had been meant for Seamus Finnegan. Michael Corner and Colin Creevy had likewise taken what was not aimed at them, for Cho Chang and Dennis Creevy respectively. Luna Lovegood had died with that dreamy look in her eyes and that oddly far-away smile on her face even after twelve rounds of _Crucio_ from Voldemort himself. And many, oh, too many, of the Order had died: Arabella Figg, Alicia Spinnet, Alastor Moody, and others whose names Hermione had never learned. Cedric's death might have started the War and Dumbledore's may have changed the rules, but every death counted.

The price for life, and the freedom to live it without fear, had been paid in blood.

Graduation had been a sober occasion that year. While the rest of the Wizarding world had still been celebrating Voldemort's Fall, the Great Hall had been silent. While the newspapers and magazines, miffed that Harry and Hermione weren't talking, had been informing the world about the Trio's--now Duo's--Arcanic Runes, McGonagall had been graduating students posthumously. Everyone who had fought for the side of light in the Final Battle got an Order of Merlin of some degree. Those who had paid the ultimate price received a new token of recognition, the Medal of Mnemosyne.

But what good was a medal to the dead? Or to people like Molly Weasley or Mr. Lovegood who had to bury a child? Or to Neville, who buried a mother that he had never really known but had used the only moments of lucidity she had had in fifteen years to save him? It didn't bring back the departed. It didn't help ease the hole left by their absence.

So what good was it?

The questions continued to haunt her. For a month after the Commencement Ceremony, she had walked around Naman's house like a ghost. Naman had never asked any questions and had kept Rity from asking any. The many relatives that made up the Cooper gypsy troop had just shown up at the choovihni's home like they had the summer that Rity had been born. They only stayed a week before leaving. Hermione could still remember what Naman had told her when she sent Hermione with the troop.

"Go with them, m'dear." The aging woman enveloped her granddaughter in a hug that conveyed what she would never be able to say. "Learn that there is life after death. Learn to dance to the music of your heart. Learn to be the wild gypsy that is locked inside you. We'll take care of Crook."

So Hermione had left with the caravan, for Naman. She had become the same ever-efficient Hermione that anyone from Hogwarts would recognize, but like her first semester at the magic school, she was miserable. She couldn't bring herself to join in on the songs or to make her feet move in the almost familiar steps of the many dances. Every time she began to see the glimmer of life, one of the faces of the friends she had lost came back to her. Severus' or Ron's were the most common ones.

In the year it took for her soul to recover, she had missed Pansy Parkinson's marriage to Theodore Nott and Ginny's marriage to Neville. Harry moved to his Nest on an isle that was part of the Potter legacy about six months after she had left. Ronald Longbottom, the first of Ginny and Neville's children, was born that spring on his deceased uncle's birthday. Draco Malfoy had somehow disappeared from the limelight after making a public apology for his and his father's actions. When Naman and Rity moved to the States, Hermione found out from McGonagall.

Then one day she had woken up on the ground next to a burnt-out fire and found the scar on her spirit didn't hurt so much. As she revived the fire, the words of a song filled her. For once the notes didn't stop in her throat but filled the early morning air. Her Uncle Radel had smiled for the first time in her presence. The next time there was a dance, her feet and hips moved without her having to tell them. And when she laughed, it finally reached her eyes.

Her life had been renewed and now it was time to go home. She knew what she had to do if she was to get anything on her own steam and not for her part in Voldemort's Defeat. She had to become a completely new person. Thus Helen Daniels had been born.

McGonagall had helped with the necessary documents. She had them all waiting when Hermione came, like a fugitive, to her office. Everything was there, O.W.L and N.E.W.T scores (which were less impressive than her actual scores, but still impressive), a minor age adjustment to account for extra two years she had gained because of the Time Turner use in third year, and an employment history consisting of being the personal librarian for the Dumbledore estate.

After seeing the library at the Hive, the name of the Dumbledore estate, she could understand why he would have needed a librarian. Every book ever given to the old headmaster had been put into one room. They had just been placed on the shelves wherever there was a spot. With twice as many books as the Hogwarts library, but half as much space, it was utter chaos. She spent the three months after sending her resume to the Department of Mysteries making sense of it. She had managed it only after conjuring new bookcases and rearranging the entire room. She left an empty bookcase near the door with the words 'new books' scrawled across the top so that her hard work needn't be a waste of time.

Helen Daniels didn't 'live' for very long, though. It was enough to get her the research job on her own merits, but her roommate's mother also worked for the Department of Mysteries. When Hermione messed up and used one of Blaise's favorite phrases, Lanai Zabini had instantly caught it. Both Zabinis had a habit of being too observant for their own good. That trait, Hermione was sure, is what had landed both in Slytherin.

Luckily, Hermione was _the_ Hermione Granger and the Head of the Department had understood her reasoning. He had looked at her actual school records (which had broken several records that had been held since the beginning of Ministry testing). Those records and the advanced magic she had performed over the years are what won her the right to remain as a researcher. Her name only made Karl Abahalkin look at them. She was lucky he decided not to press charges.

But, then again, falsifying documents was such a small thing.


	4. Age Makes No Difference

"It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question." --Eugène Ionesco

Chapter Three: Age Makes No Difference

"Marlene tells me that you want to have a baby. Is that true, Miss Granger?"

The look on the matron's face was very much like Madam Pomfrey's whenever she had a student in her care that had done something very stupid. The familiarity soothed her. Somehow that disapproving look was more comforting to Hermione than the overly helpfulness of the nurse that took her vitals a few moments ago. She knew what caused that look. Children out of wedlock were still rare in the Wizarding world, a world where respectable women were married within a few years of graduating Hogwarts.

"Yes, madam."

"Are you aware that becoming a single mother--particularly in this way--is highly unusual?"

"Yes, madam."

The medi-witch didn't say anything, didn't even nod to signal that she had heard Hermione's answer. For a few minutes, all that was done was the shuffling of papers that Hermione assumed made up her file. Most people--most Gryffindors--would have become nervous with the lengthening silence, but her lessons throughout sixth and seventh year with Severus Snape had vaccinated her against uncomfortable silences. The training had also continued into her work. Being an Unspeakable had often required her to remain silent when others would have spoken. This woman had nothing on the other people Hermione had had to deal with over the years.

"Are you also aware that you'll have no choice in the father, rather like muggle artificial insinuation? That it can be any wizard in the word?"

"N-no, madam," Hermione started. Why couldn't they control that? "I wasn't aware of that aspect."

"You look puzzled. Do you have any questions?"

"Why can't you control who the father is?"

"We can't control that aspect with unmarried witches. We can with married couples. A Wizarding couple is magically bonded during the wedding ceremony. The spell has an anchor."

"I think I understand."

"Do you still want to go through with it?"

"...I'm not sure..."

"I'll give you the contracts you'll need with all the information you'll need to know if you decide to go through with it. You can read them at your leisure and come back next week some time. Okay?"

"Okay."

-/--/--/--/--/-

Hermione was ten when Marguerite Sarah Granger was born. When Naman had taken Hermione to see her new little sister and her mother in the hospital, Hermione had been amazed that flower heads had started raining down on everybody in the small hall way. Her parents, however, didn't view it as amazement, but jealously. They both told her that their love for her had not changed, but as days want by and the eldest grangers spent an increasing amount of time at the hospital with Rity, Hermione had started to doubt their word.

To the ten-year-old Hermione, it had been annoying. What had happened to the people who read from history textbooks to her or taught her Romanian, Welsh, French, and Latin? Looking back later, Helen and Daniel Granger's behavior had made sense. Rity had decided to come nine weeks too early. As if that was not enough, the delivery had nearly killed both mother and child.

Hermione had spent those tense months at her grandmother's house. With the troop camped out on the modest grounds, it was crowded and almost never silent. While the many relatives would tell Hermione tales of brightly colored caravans filled with powerful choovihni and beautiful dancers, no on said anything about the two lives balanced on the edge of death. After all, she was only a child, too young to know.

Then she asked about her mummy and her new baby sister. No sooner had the question left her lips than it had been answered. Years would go by before she thought to ask her grandmother why she had chose that day to tell her. Harriette Cooper had just blinked her eyes owlishly at Hermione as if she was confused. Blackwing, Naman's pet owl, had mimicked her mistress' actions.

"But I didn't choose, m'dear. You did," Naman had explained in her thick Romany accent. "You were only a child until you asked. But remember this, my wise Hermione: once you are old enough to ask the question, you are old enough to know the answer."

Those words shaped her opinions for the rest of her life. Before she asked a question, she would always remember that answer. Such a small answer had never failed to make her wonder about the biggest things.

Selective ignorance is such a small thing.


	5. Lions and Snakes

"Either this wallpaper goes, or I do." --Oscar Wilde

Chapter Four: Lions and Snakes

"Are you knocked up yet?"

Hermione did not dignify Blaise's question by answering. She just dropped her satchel by the door and fell onto the couch. After a bit of maneuvering, she managed to kick off her shoes in the general direction of the sarcastic Slytherin. He dodged the flying object with an ease born of experience. Leaving the law book he was reading open on his lap, he rested his chin on his hand as he watched her pinch the bridge of her nose. Blaise had often seen the same habit in his former Head of House. There were times that he wondered if his roommate knew where she had picked up the gesture.

"Is that a 'no'? I bet it's because you couldn't study it to death before you went."

"Not helping, Blaise."

For several moments, neither of the roommates said anything. Blaise Zabini continued reading the thick tome resting on his lap. Scrimgeour was attempting to pass a tax against the estates of suspected Death Eaters. Disappointedly, the half-brain Minister of Magic had listed the Malfoy, Greengrass, and Zabini estates on that list. Lanai Zabini, Blaise's mother, had opened her ancestral keep to the Order during both wars. Draco Malfoy, the new head of the Malfoy family, had turned spy and had ended up risking his life to save Severus Snape when the old potion-maker had been caught after his deflection.

It was the inclusion of the Greengrasses that had been the final straw for even those who believed in Scrimgeour. The Greengrass family was notoriously neutral. They were the only pureblood family that has ever managed to neither help nor hinder either side of a war. This war was no different. Their place on the register of suspected Death Eaters was laughable at best.

The principals of those three families as well as half a dozen more of the listed had come to the young lawyer for his legal advice. That's what he was doing when Hermione had found her way home, looking up information for his newest clients. He was running out of options as well as reading material. A sigh from the couch drew his attention away from the increasingly hopeless situation to one quite the opposite.

"Is that the sound of a Gryffindor giving up?" He stuck his head back in his book. Noting that he had reached the bottom of the page, he flicked to a new one. "And just when I was beginning to think that determination was a House trait."

"Still not helping, Blaise."

"This must be bad," he quipped, turning his attention back to Hermione. "What _was_ the problem?"

"He could be anyone--anyone at all--and then I have to find him and tell him that I'm pregnant."

"And the problem is..."

"Can you imagine me going up to some complete stranger in Brazil and announcing that I'm carrying his child?"

"Can I sale tickets?"

Blaise prepared to duck. He was expecting one of the periwinkle-colored pillows to come flying in his direction. When Hermione did not try to retaliate, the former snake tried to form some semblance of seriousness. He closed his legal book and placed it to the side.

"Hand me the contract," he instructed. Hermione's response was a glare. Blaise let out a dramatic sigh. Apparently, his bushy-haired roommate was not in the mood to take orders. He gave another sigh and held out his hand. "Maybe I can find a loophole."

"The Slytherin lawyer strikes again," Hermione drawled as she swung her legs off the couch. After handing him the stack of papers and pamphlets, she fell back onto the divan and allowed the soft blues and whites of the flat to relax her.

-/--/--/--/--/---

Hermione had fallen in love with the flat the moment she had seen it. Light and air had filled it. The high arched ceilings soared above her head without dwarfing her as the spaces of Hogwarts had. The flat was huge, more than big enough for two people. It was everything she had wanted in an apartment. There was even a room for a potions lab. And if it hadn't been for Blaise, she would never have gotten it.

The ignorant landlord had not wanted to rent to a single woman. She had been in the midst of trying to control her anger when Blaise walked in as if he owned the place. He had kissed her on the cheek, called her 'darling', and asked her how things were going. When she had made to protest, he had interrupted with an apology for being late. Having learned from the War that plans were not always the best thing in the world, she had adapted quickly to the masquerade.

The biggest fight the pair had initially was about colors, particularly which to use to decorate the flat. It stretched on for a week. Hermione had almost gotten used to waking up in the morning to find the dark roses and golds she had spelled the night before changed to silvers and emeralds. Eventually, though, they had compromised by not choosing either of Slytherin or Gryffindor colors. Blaise never mentioned it, but Hermione was still aware that he was relieved not to be surrounded by his House colors, just as she was. Sometimes the memories were just too much to deal with on top of everything else.

That first week contained more than a battle about colors. It was when they divided the flat. Blaise couldn't mess with Hermione's potion lab. Likewise, Hermione wasn't allowed to change anything about the generous patio just outside the kitchen. By the end of their first night together, Blaise had also forbidden her from making anything but tea in the kitchen. The next morning, even the right to make tea was taken from her.

"How is it," Blaise had asked after she had made the morning brew, "that you can brew the most difficult potions possible yet be unable to make a drinkable cup of Earl Grey?" As he poured out the smoking pot into the sink, he furthered his comment with, "I think the Wizarding world would be safer if you weren't allowed anywhere near a place where there is a need for culinary skills." After the muck coating the teapot refused to be moved by a Scourgify, Blaise cast the equally simple Reducto charm. "Maybe the muggle one as well."

Hermione picked up the nearest thing, a pillow, and chucked it at him. He deftly caught it out of midair. A few flick of his wand later, there was new teapot simmering on the stove. The Wizarding law student then winked at her. But the habit of throwing things at him had been born.

Blaise's mother, the Lady Pendragon, was initially thrilled when he told her that that he was moving in with a woman. She wasn't upset that Blaise was gay. In pureblood society, men outnumbered women three to one. Homosexuality, while not encouraged, was accepted, at least among men. However, men did not have wombs, a necessity for an heir. The Pendragon line used to rule the Wizarding world and thus 'could not be allowed to wither away like the broken branch of a fig tree.' Since there were only three surviving members of the family total, Blaise was forever hearing about the need to settle down to start having children. Lanai Zabini, who was unable to bear any more children, and Severus Snape, who hated...well, people, were the other two descendants. There was a lot of pressure on Blaise to make an honest man of his long-term boyfriend, Seamus Finnegan. The news that her son was taking up residence with a powerful and renowned witch had understandable made Lanai very happy. Not even Hermione and Blaise's steadfast denials could change that.

The real milestone, of course, was when Harry and Blaise met for the first time. The two had stared at each other for the briefest of moments before they had both seemed to become very interested in everything else in the flat. Seamus had drifted over from where he had been talking with the Weasley twins to stand by Hermione. Silence was strung between the group, taut with the tension of turmoil.

"I heard you killed a Dark Lord, Potter."

Hermione had bitten her lip in dismay. Beside her, Seamus let out a frustrated groan. The two Gryffindors were by that time familiar with Blaise's unique form of humor. This was not the time for joking. Moreover, that was _not_ a laughing matter. It didn't matter to Harry, though. Apparently, his hermitage had mellowed him. A smile appeared on Harry's face that had not been seen in a while.

"Yeah," Harry had replied in the same slightly mocking tone, "I think I may have done something like that."

From that point on, their lives became habitual. Once a week, she spent the night at the Nest, Harry's hideaway, catching up or devouring his library. Hermione suspected that Seamus and Blaise put her absence to good use, but as long as they stayed out her rooms, she didn't care. The two unlikely roommates had formed a fragile friendship the morning she had blown up the tea. From that tiny seed, a mighty oak had grown. After six years of living together, Hermione felt as close to Blaise as she was to Harry. Like phoenix rising from the ashes, she had found happiness after sorrow.

Then she had heard the ticking.

She wanted a family of her own. Oh, she still had Rity, Naman, and all the many members of the troop. There was also Harry, the Weasleys, and the ever-increasing number of Weasley-Longbottoms, all of whom were as close as blood. But none were _hers_. She wanted a child of her own.

The only problem was a father.

But that was such a small thing.


	6. The Mallet of Truth

"A man understands one day that his life is built on nothing and that is a bad, crazy day." --Unknown

Chapter Five: The Mallet of Truth

"Ah, Miss Granger, you're back. I trust that you read all the material I gave you last week."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione replied, a shy smile on her lips. The week had been spent buried in the recommended reading. Between Blaise, Seamus, Harry, Fred, George, and her, they had come up with a list of necessary questions. That had been the easiest part. It took three more days to answer the vast majority of them. Surprisingly, it had been Harry who had found the loophole that would save her from appearing insane. She needn't tell 'Mr. Brazil', as Blaise had dubbed the father, that her child was his, only that she was pregnant.

"Do you have any questions?"

Obediently, Hermione pulled out her roll of parchment from her pocket. She searched her list for a question her men hadn't been able to answer. Most of the questions had a paragraph in either Blaise's tidy scrawl or her tiny print. One or two had Harry's messy writing or Seamus' nearly illegible splatters. A few had obviously been answered by one of the twins. The only bit of handwriting she didn't recognize was an unanswered question at the very bottom of the list. Without dwelling on the unfamiliarity, she read off the question.

"What if he dies before I can tell him?"

"If he dies or is unable to hear you, then the spell acts as if you _had_ told him. However, if the current location, as listed below the father's name, is deceased, then the name and current location of the father's next of kin will be listed. The knowledge of the pregnancy must be passed onto them."

"Has--" Hermione paused to bite her lip. Restless, her fingers picked at the faux leather of the stool upon which she perched. She swallowed the lump threatening to choke her. "Has that ever happened before? The father being dead?"

"Only once in the last hundred years," the medi-witch replied in her brisk manner. "Female; five pounds, 1 ounces; sixteen inches. The father was Taliesin. The daughter was later registered as a Metamorphmagus. More likely, though, it will be one of your contemporaries. You're twenty-three?"

"Only chronologically," came Hermione's blithe reply. "Physically, I'm thirty...due to...due to time turner use."

"Ah, yes, I see the notation now. Used a time turner in your third year at Hogwarts to take extra classes--ambitious, dear? After Hogwarts, you became a researcher for the Ministry of Magic. Well, any more questions?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then I think we're good to start now, if you wish." At Hermione's nod, the medi-witch took a phial of a bluish potion from her pocket. It was a fertility elixir, Hermione knew from her reading. "Just drink this and relax."

---------

"Lesseekedo," came the matronly medi-witch's whisper as she waved the wand good for this spell alone. Unable to deal with the nervous anticipation, her mind began spitting facts back at her. The spell had to be cast three times. Each casting had to be nine minutes apart, no more, no leas. The subject could not move during the intervals and had to be conscious the entire time.

The wand itself was nine and a half inches long with a core made from a Veela hair wrapped around a stork feather. The wood was likewise wrapped around the core, making the birch neatly twisted. Legend has it as one of the few surviving objects made by Merlin. Myth, however, has the goddess Freya creating it for a devoted follower. The only thing the books had agreed on was that the wand had appeared about the same time as Slytherin's split with the rest of the Hogwarts Four.

Like other wands, this one chooses its wielder. Unlike other wands, after one wielder becomes incapable (or unwilling) to perform the magic, the Birth Wand would show up in front of its next wielder. The magicks worked best when the subject was ovulating--the potion assured this--and sincerely desired to have a child. Conception was assured of all the strictures were obeyed.

"Lesseekedo."

However, there was a price to pay. The witch who was doing the conceiving had no choice in the father. It could be any wizard in the world. No on knew why it choose the men it did. The name of the father would be revealed in a cloud of mist above the mother's womb, as would his location. The expectant witch then had three days to inform the father (_'only that she's pregnant,'_ a part of Hermione cried out.) or she will miscarry the child. This ritual could only be done once per witch. If for whatever reason she failed to tell the father, she would be barren forever. Not even conception potions would not get her pregnant.

So much hung on three days. So much could happen in seventy-two hours. So much could go wrong in four thousand, three hundred, and twenty minutes. Every second was a chance for something to go awry. So little time with so much at stake.

"Lessee--" The sneeze came out of nowhere. It took all of Hermione's will not to jerk at the explosive noise. 'Only one shot,' she reminded herself. "Lesseekedo."

The chimes of Big Ben striking three in the afternoon welcomed the soothing green mist spilling from the wandtip. The mist gathered around her pelvis, as it seemed to solidify. It seemed to take forever for the imperial purple letters to form, but in reality, it was only a few seconds. However, Hermione did not need to see the location of 'Mr. Brazil' to know where to find him.

Which was a good thing...because she fainted at the shock of seeing his name as the father of her child.

-/--/--/--/--/-

The last thing she could remember for what seemed like the longest time about the Final Battle was the path of fiery pain racing across her skin as her Arcanic Rune was activated. A spare drop from Voldemort's portion of the potion had flown at her, striking her cheekbone with white-hot intensity. Months later, she would remember watching the dreaded Dark Lord crumbling like old bread. Then the purple-edged green light had shot from the ashes of the former Tom Riddle straight for Harry. Ron, ever the noble Gryffindor, calmly stepped into the way.

They had all grinned at each other, certain of their victory. Hermione would marry Ron by the end of the month. They would be back from their honeymoon in time for Harry's birthday party. Harry and Ron would apply for the Auror program while Hermione went to Oxford. In three years, Rity would start at Hogwarts and Naman would go back to her travels. Hermione would name her first child after her parents. It would all be a dream come true. 'Silly Gryffindor nonsense' as Professor Snape would say, but oh, how she would love it.

Then Ron had fallen.

Both Hermione and Harry caught him before he hit the floor, but it did no good. He raised already crumbling fingers to her cheek. His lips traced the now familiar sentiment of love, but no sound could be heard above the blood roaring in her ears. Then all that was left of him was cinders, cold cinders. Hermione had left her eyes drift toward the pile of Voldemort. The twin rubies that had been his eyes had laughed at them for being so foolish as to think they could defeat him.

_'No,'_ had come the horrified thought before darkness could claim her. _'No! This was not how it was supposed to be! Only Voldemort was supposed to die! Only Voldemort...'_

When she had awakened later, so much later, Professor Snape had been by her bedside. He appeared to have collapsed in sheer exhaustion into the chair acting as his bed. Not for the first time, she noticed how hollow his cheeks were, only accenting the paleness of his skin. The hair that some called greasy because of its shine (a false accusation; Hermione knew that the shine was caused by silkiness as was the clumping.) fell forward to obscure his haggard face. Her fingers had twitched with a sudden desire--_'no...no, need'_--to brush the hair away. Of its own volition, her hand obeyed the unspoken need.

Unconsciously, he had moved into her hand. He had murmured something vaguely like her name. She snatched her hand back in shock. As if the lost of her touch was the cause, his eyes had opened, groggy at first, then instantly wide-awake. They had stared at each other for a long moment, each taking measure of the other. They hadn't spoken since the night they had procured that pint of precious unicorn blood nearly a month ago, since the day that Rita Skeeter had run that article about Ron and her getting married.

"I never should have shown you how to make that potion," he had said in a low voice. His midnight eyes glinted in the predawn light as they stared into hers. She could see so much pain there, so much guilt. He had told her that his potions were his children. How he must feel that one last 'child' had killed, she would probably never know. "I should have known that...that Potter would have you do something _utterly stupid_ with it."

"It was _my_ idea, Professor," she had replied, unable to free herself from his gaze. _'Please, don't blame yourself._' "It was my own fault."

"You nearly got yourself _killed_, Miss Granger." He was almost hissing in his growing rage. She felt her own rage gather force, so that when he spat out his next insult, she spat back. "I _had_ thought you had more brains than average for your House."

"That House, with all its stupidity, just saved your life, Professor," she paused, waiting on a knife's edge, then rushed on, damning the consequences, "_yet again_."

They stared at each other, as the silence grew more tensed. Looking back later, she would wonder why he had not taken points or...hit her. He certainly looked like he would and she had deserved it. Then all she had was anger and grief, mostly at seeing him so worn down, for his ignoring her for a month, but a fair amount for his cruel words.

She had been his lab partner, that is all. She had been a well-trained pair of hands that listened. He had said so more than once, though less as the start of Slughorn's experiment grew farther into the past. They began talking about things besides potions: dreams, hopes...fears. When Ron had proposed to her, she had talked it out with him. He had treated her as if she was a Slytherin then, though he hated the thought of her marrying Ron. He had been so angry with her. But when he next spoke, there was no trace of rage in his voice, only sympathy--_pity_.

"Miss Granger...I regret that I have a bit of bad news about Mr. Weasley..."

"No, you don't," she had snapped in denial of what she already knew. Fear clawed at her gut. "He's fine...and Harry's fine and we're all fine and Voldemort's dead which is _fine_. That was how it was supposed to go." She clamped her hands over her ears, hoping in vain that the strange dream she had had was just that. "Don't you _dare_ tell me otherwise!"

"Hermione--"

"--FINE!" she had shouted. But she already knew. The 'Golden Trio' was now a duo. _And it was all her fault_. Hadn't she been the one to come up with this scheme? She rolled over on her side, her back facing the former Death Eater. "Leave me alone," had been her whispered plea. It was not until she heard the door close behind him that her first tear had fallen.

"Come back."

It was only a breath of a sob, too quiet to have reached her ears, let alone a sullen professor halfway to the dungeons. She did not know if she was trying to reach him or her fallen friend and fiancé.

But then, not knowing to whom one was pleading was such a small thing.


	7. Are You a Witch?

"The things we fear most have already happed to us." --'One Hour Photo'

Chapter Six: Are You a Witch?

Marlene smiled reassuringly at the handsome wizard that had come in with Hermione Granger. He had black hair pulled back in a small ponytail and dark smoky eyes. His unblemished skin was a dark, uniformed bronze. His right ear was pierced, but he had no earring in at the moment. The robes he had on over his muggle black jeans and tee was the exact purple of the Pendragons, one of the older bloodlines. All in all, he looked extremely edible to the red-haired receptionist.

"Don't worry. I'm sure your girlfriend's going to be just fine."

"She's not my girlfriend," he snapped as he resumed his pacing. "That would be disturbing. She's practically my sister." He shuddered.

"Oh, so you aren't dating?" Marlene crowed silently. Any other woman she could have competed with, but not the Hermione Granger, one of the five most respected war-heroes, despite the other woman's muggle ancestry.

"Not 'Mione." He stopped and stared at the door for a moment. "Can't you check if she's okay?"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't, Mister...?"

"Po--Zabini."

"Mr. Zabini." Marlene smiled in her most charming way. This one was worth the effort. He was good looking, rich, and most importantly, descendant of one of the First Families. The Zabinis were Italian with hints of gypsy blood, but they were still respectable. They were also very fussy about who they allowed to marry into the family, but Marlene was the tenth generation of the English line of Tolonos, another pureblood family, though Greek, not Italian. Mum would be so proud. "Do you have a first name, Mr. Zabini?"

"Yes, I believe I do," he answered, finally turning to face her. "Why can't you go check on her--'Mione!"

Marlene cursed her luck at Hermione Granger's appearance. Couldn't she had waited a few more minutes? The formerly pacing man had the legendary witch enveloped in his arms before she had fully entered the room. Her limbs shook slightly, a subconscious act he had learned to mean she was upset. The fact that she was also as pale as a sheet gave away that whatever it was, it was very serious. She hadn't looked like that since Ron's memorial service.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" She buried her face in his chest in answer. His gut tightened with worry. He tightened his hold on her. "It didn't work?"

"It worked," she mumbled. She lifted her face from his chest and stepped away from him. He didn't say anything as he watched her pull herself together. "How much time do you have left?"

"Twenty-three minutes--plenty of time." He lifted her chin so that he could meet her eyes. What he saw there, he hadn't seen since the month leading up to the Final Battle. "What's wrong, 'Mione?"

"Not here, Harry." A weariness that hadn't been there before became apparent in her voice. He didn't question her any more. He only followed her out of the clinic...leaving behind a frustrated receptionist.

--------

The group of men gathered in the living room of the flat were silent. Outside, dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky. Harry, once more looking like himself, had resumed his pacing. Blaise sat calmly in the chair nearest the door. Seamus nervously chewed on his fingernails as he sat in the space between his boyfriend's legs. He had woken up from his light doze about a half an hour ago when Harry and Blaise's discussion of Scrimgeour's policies had turned into a loud round of Scrimgeour-bashing. The Weasley twins had laid claim to the couch hours ago and were now sleeping with their backs against each other. Their feet dangled off opposite sides of the couch. There was no way that they could be comfortable.

"Should someone go in there?"

Harry shook his head at Seamus' question as Blaise murmured a soft negative. The Irish wizard craned his head to look at his lover. The Slytherin just leaned his head against the back of the armchair and let his eyes slide close. It had been a long night for all of them. Questioningly, Seamus turned to his ex-roommate. Harry sighed. It was probably going to be an equally long day.

"Whenever Hermione locks herself away, she does it for a reason," Harry carefully explained. "It's almost always serious." _'Why didn't Seamus ever notice that before? Ah, wait...wasn't it 'Mione who explained it to me and--'_ He rushed on speaking before he could finish that thought. "She's probably just coming to terms with the knowledge of whoever is the father."

"It's Severus Snape."

Three heads swung around to face the now-open door to Hermione's bedroom. Silence spread after her pronouncement. None, not even the announcer, could believe their ears. None had imagined the Potions Professor having children. He was not the type to be anyone's father. The idea that he was about to become one was shocking.

Not surprisingly, Blaise recovered first. He jumped up with a triumphal shout that woke up the twins. Everyone watched as the young lord performed a jig that he must have learned from Seamus. Then the motions changed to something similar to the dances Hermione had learned from Naman and Uncle Radel. Hermione's frayed nerves snapped when Blaise reached to pull Seamus up to dance with him.

"I fail to see how this is a good thing, Blaise."

"Don't you see it, Hermione?" Blaise spread his arms wide, embracing the room. The diamond stud twinkled in his ear like Dumbledore's eyes. "Now there is an end in sight to Mother's nagging to make an honest man of Seamus here."

"But not me mum's constant string of blind dates."

"You should come out to them," the twins chimed in, trading off as usual every couple of words. "That's how we got Mum off our backs."

"Me da' would have a heart attack."

"Well, then you'll need a Healer on hand, won't you?"

"To quote the fair Hermione: 'not helping', me love."

"_'Me love'_? When has Hermione ever called me _that_?"

The majority of those in the living room began arguing. It was difficult to follow the topic of the argument. Originally, it was about how Seamus should tell his parents about the going-on-seven-years relationship with the dark-haired man. Hermione could have sworn that had been the issue. But there were comments about Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Quidditch, and how the Weasley twins should at least try to find other men for themselves instead of each other. Seamus even mentioned Peter Pan and the giant squid, for Merlin knows why! Through it all, Harry was staring at her with his mouth open.

"Excuse me," Hermione interrupted the quarreling quartet. "But I need help here. Sev--Professor Snape is not the kind of person one goes up to and joyfully announces that one is pregnant. Oh, I hope she doesn't have his nose."

Everyone except Harry laughed. The twins swung their legs off the arms of the couch in unison. Through their laugh, they beckoned Hermione from her doorway. She noticeable hesitated before walking to take the offered seat. Biting her lip, she let her eyes drift to each of the assembled men in turn. They eventually landed on Harry, whose mouth was still dropped in shock.

"Please, Harry," she begged, "say something."

"Yes, and for Merlin's sake, close your mouth, Potter." Blaise plopped down in his armchair. "You look like a goldfish."

"Harry?" Hermione tried again. Her honey-hued eyes never left Harry's pale face. She did not even bother to roll them at Blaise's comment. Of all those here, only the Boy-Who-Lived knew about the crush she had had on the potions master during her seventh year.

"Snape?"

"Yes, Harry, Professor Severus Snape of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"The greasy-haired, large-nosed chap that tortured us mercilessly all of our school years and threw me out of his office after I looked into his Pensieve?"

"His hair isn't greasy--"

"You looked into Severus' Pensieve? Blimey, Potter, were you not happy with just one homicidal madman after you? Thought you needed another one?"

"Not helping, Blaise," snapped Hermione. Her cold stare quelled what other disbelieving comments he would have made. Potter had the right of it. The muggleborn really could be quite scary at times. Fierceness was a good thing. She would probably need it if she were to raise a Snape, let alone a Pendragon heir.

"Okay, how's this for helping: we'll all go to Hogwarts with you," Blaise announced getting up from his chair. Restlessly, he began mimicking Potter's earlier activity without thinking about it. "If we go Friday, we'll even have an excuse for going to that crumbling pile of rocks."

"Oh? What reason would that be, Sir Slytherin?"

"Honestly, Hermione, don't you ever read your mail? It's a Commencement. McGonagall is letting loose a whole new batch of dunderheads. We both got invitations. I'm willing to bet the entire Pendragon inheritance that Potter's got one as well."

"We've got one," the twins said as one. "It came in the same envelope and it was addressed to both of us."

"That crazy lemon drop doesn't miss a beat--"

"Hermione?" All eyes turned to Harry. Hermione could tell that he had remembered her confession from so long ago. "How do you feel about Snape being the father?"

Hermione sighed. All of 'her' men's eyes watched her with varying mixtures of apprehension and amusement. Blaise was the only one who seemed nonchalant. Why should he? Severus--_Professor Snape_ was his cousin. Blaise's dark gray eyes glittered with happiness. Hermione sighed again. The Slytherin was already plotting something. That could _not_ be a good thing.

Then she drifted back into the memories that had occupied her mind most of the night; sitting up with Severus, debating the uses of various potion ingredients. The way the firelight caught on the edges of his black teaching robes would be forever etched into her memory. Though he vehemently denied it the next morning, she knew he had covered her with the blanket the night she fell asleep on his couch. When she had told him that it didn't have the same feel as the things Dobby made magically, he had deducted ten points from Gryffindor for 'being insolent and suggesting impropriety on the behalf of a professor' and had expelled her from his rooms with the nearly customary invitation to return after dinner to continue their potion research. Then the night they had harvested that pint of unicorn blood rose to the foremost of her thoughts. The necklace around her neck warmed, reminding her of the horned horse's generosity. The memory of her last words to Severus chilled both her blood and the magical jewel.

"He doesn't have to know, right?"

Hermione looked at the men surrounded her. The fresh sun etched lines of worry into all their faces. Blaise looked as if he had something to say, but he was holding his tongue. Harry had somehow managed to stop his impression of a goldfish. Seamus was chewing a fingernail. All had bags under their eyes.

"Nobody has to know that I'm carrying the next generation of the Pendragon family line...do they?"

"Severus doesn't need to know," Blaise answered in a soft coaxing sort of way. Again, he looked as if he needed to say something. This time he pushed on with it. "We'll need to tell Mother, though. She _is_ the Head of the family."

The thought came to him unbidden like some dark cloud blown by a cold north wind. It made Blaise shiver and shudder just the same. Wisely, he bit his tongue as Hermione nodded her agreement and Potter told her to try to get some sleep while he owled McGonagall to see if they all could come a day early.

_'Mother is also a woman. Surely, she wouldn't choose to separate a mother from her child.'_

-/--/--/--/--/-

Hermione had been scared many times in her life. When she was five, she had been sure that there was a monster in her closet. She could have sworn that it was always seemed to be what scared her the most, even when she grew braver. Later, she would learn that it had probably been a boggart, but her parents had assured her repeatedly that it was just a nightmare. Naman, who was still traveling with the troop regularly, had been the only one to take her seriously. In her next trip to England, the choovihni had done a banishing. That had been as scary as it had been fun.

But terror was a completely different matter. Hermione could count on one hand the number of times she had been terrified. That icy emotion was impossible to forget.

The sight of Harry and Ron, her only friends in the strange, only-half-familiar world she found herself in, tangled in Devil's Snare shook the very foundations of her soul. She had felt so helpless and so very small. She was going to loose had made Hogwarts bearable. All thoughts of magic had been drowned out by the cold thought of loosing her best friends. It had been a struggle to remember details about what was going to take them from her. Ron had been the one that had brought her back to reality.

"Well, are you a witch or aren't you?" he had snapped in frustration. The words of the spell had suddenly been there and the terror passed.

The second time had been harder to deal with because after teaching Harry the Summoning Charm, there had been nothing she could do to have helped. She had to watch as her almost-brother went up against a dragoness whose only thought was to protect her nest. Terror had been like a stone at the bottom of her belly. In those tense minutes, she had held Ron's arms so hard he had bruises for a week.

At the time, she had been convinced that nothing could be worse than watching Ron and Harry go up against forces that could easily squash them in to mash. However, they were at least armed against those forces. They were both competent wizards, if a bit lax in the homework arena.

Rity had been only six.

Death Eaters had attacked her home two weeks after the end of sixth year. They had swarmed like rats through the town, casting Unforgivables as children cast stones onto the lake at Hogwarts. There had been no place to run to, no place to hide. And, even worse, there had been no chance of help. The green light of the Killing Curse had painted the entire neighborhood in its deadly shade.

There has never been a doubt in Hermione's mind that they had come because of her. The guilt only made the terror worse as her mother and father had rushed into the night, deaf to her pleas to stay, in attempt to help. The Doctors Granger were struck down before they could get out of Hermione's sight. She had done the only thing she could think of: she hid Rity in an upstairs closet and set the strongest locking charms she knew before heading out to see what the night held. All the while Ron's words from their first year had echoed in her mind.

"Well, are you a witch or aren't you?"

Yet facing the masked Dark minions was not as nerve-wracking as watching her house explode just when she had thought she was safe, that the attack was over. Only Kingsley Shacklebolt's arms around her waist had kept her from rushing into the inferno to search for her younger sister. Her pleas once again were heard only by deaf ears as she struggled to get free. Those moments were the second most painful memories she had of the War.

Then Rity had tumbled from the burning building, unharmed and giggling uncontrollably, proving that she had the same magical talent as Hermione.

Then there was the brief clenching of her gut when Blaise had mentioned telling Lanai about the child. Hermione knew what had caused that brief hesitation when he mentioned Lanai Zabini's position as matriarch of the Pendragon clan. Head of Families were still given free reign over heirs in the Wizarding world. The only reason she knew that at all, ironically, was Dudley Dursley.

Harry's cousin had been taken to St. Mungo's at the beginning of seventh year. Vernon Dursley had been able to forbid the Healers from giving the large boy a potion that would have saved him despite being less magically inclined than his wife, Petunia Dursley. Thus Hermione was very aware that Lanai could take Hermione's child from her, if the Lady Pendragon so chose. Terror and grief filled her at just the thought of that happening.

So telling a man she had had a crush on nearly her entire seventh year what most people (but not him) would perceive as good news was nothing.

The fact that she might have even loved him was such a small thing.


	8. Face the Dawn

Chapter Seven: Face the Dawn

"I can't do this."

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione turned away from the gates of Hogwarts. The pale look on Harry's face told more than words that he felt the same way. Rolling his dark gray eyes, Blaise just stepped wordlessly in way of her escape route. The Weasley twins quickly flanked the Slytherin. Placing his hands on her shoulders, Seamus turned her back towards the gates. The bushy-haired witch dug in her heels.

"No, I can't do this, you guys. I really can't. This won't work."

"Well. As long as you're being positive..."

"Not helping, Zabini," Harry snapped, releasing some of the pent-up agitation of retuning to the prep site for the Final Battle. Blaise just grinned at the familiar phrase.

"There is absolutely no way in Hell this plan will work."

Her chest heaved as her breathing sped up. Iron bands wrapped around her heart as sweat poured off of her. Her tongue felt much too big to be in her mouth. A grey fog began to fill her vision. She could feel her eyes rolling back into her head. A single thought crossed her mind before the world went dark.

_'So this is what it's like to die.'_

----------

Hermione came back to consciousness without that murky middle ground. She lay still for a moment to let the still familiar sounds of Hogwarts filter through the whitewashed walls of the Hospital Ward. Then she had to close her eyes against the tide of memories that threatened to drown her. They were just too painful to acknowledge, not now--not when the clock was ticking down tell she had to tell Professor Snape about the baby. With that thought, she sat upright in bed and looked around her.

Her honor-guard surrounded her even in their sleep. On opposite sides of her, Harry and Blaise Slept in what looked to be very uncomfortable chairs. They both were slouched down in their chairs with their hand bowed to each other like ninjas before a fight. On the cot behind Harry, Fred was curled around George. Her muggle-raised mind skipped over the rather suggestive placement of Fred's hand. It was still a little difficult for her to grasp the difference in acceptable behavior for identical twins in the Wizarding world from the muggle world. Seamus was sprawled on another cot, this time behind Blaise.

She spent a thoughtful moment watching them sleep before the memory of the child inside her wiggled its way to the forefront of her mind. 'One chance.' Hermione immediately threw back the thin coverlet and swung her legs off the bed. The cold shot through her entire body the moment her feet touched the floor. She couldn't suppress the shiver that racked her small frame. But she couldn't let the cold stop her. The chill of the infirmary was nothing compared to the arctic temperature of the dungeons...the dungeons that Severus Snape called home.

She found him where she had always found him on these night during seventh year when she couldn't sleep, but it was too late to patrol: in the dungeon classroom used for Advanced Potions. He was doing the same time he would always be doing when she stopped by to see him, her mentor. Who can imagine Severus Snape doing anything other than brewing something? It was what he did, all he ever did for either side aside from pass along information. His potions were his children. Who was she to wish that he would some day look her child with the same gleam in his eye as when he looked at a perfectly brewed batch of Vertiaserum?

Hermione stood watching him for a long moment. His movements were so methodical, so graceful. It was like watching a ballet dancer move around the lab. His knife never hesitated as he cut roots evenly. Even a muggle could see that this was a master working his craft. Severus moved too surely to be anything else. Too rarely were his talents recognized. Even with the thanks that Harry and she pressed upon him over the years, so many ignored him.

He turned to move the cauldron off the small burner. In a motion she remembered from her days at Hogwarts, his eyes flicked towards the door. They did not stay long. It was a habit, nothing more. Suddenly, he looked back up and froze. The potion-filled cauldron in his hands let loose a cloud of steam, obscuring the surprised look on his face. The flame flicked at his elbow and the mask was back. It was a punch to the stomach to see that condescending look after all these years. Then their eyes met as they had that first night so long ago. Something flickered in the blackness of his eyes. He looked away before Hermione could identify it.

"What are you doing here at this hour, Miss Granger?" he asked as he busied himself clearing away excess ingredients from the desk at which he was working. The cauldron absently floated to a student desk in the front row. Recognition was instant. It was her desk. He had kept to the habit that she had ingrained upon him. Hermione stepped farther into the classroom. She had to fight the urge to shiver as her bare feet followed a familiar path across the frosty stones. It was June. Why was it so cold?

"I don't know what hour it is--I just woke up. Is this a Madonna Regret elixir? I thought it had to be brewed by the mother fresh." She felt his eyes on her. Her eyes stayed glued to the tempting blue surface of the potion even as she was careful not to breathe in any of the fumes. Madonna Regret had to be drunk to be fully effective, but the fumes could cause complications for an expecting mother. A low growl drew her attention back to the potion-maker. He wore a scowl upon which Harry and Neville had special dibs. She could tell his rage by the almost sibilant quality of the words when he next spoke.

"You pass out the moment you arrive here, and the moment you wake up, you decide to come down here--to the dungeons where it is magically kept cold--in nothing but a dressing gown. Are you trying to kill yourself, Miss Granger? I must say that you are certainly going the correct way about it." He took a deep breath as if to calm himself. Hermione could picture the thoughts as they left his head. "No, it's not Madonna Regret. The drop of blood from the mother has not been added. Regret potion has a much longer storage like than Madonna Regret does. I only have this ill task every four years or so. Was there anything you wished to discuss before you freeze to death?"

She shivered in response to his question. The last in her body heat flooded her face. What had she been thinking? She might as well give up now. She wrapped her arms around herself. Sobs began to rack her small body. From far away, she heard Severus asking what was wrong. She tried to tell him, but her teeth chattered so much that she couldn't speak. Ice bands wrapped around her chest, squeezing so tightly no air could find its way inside her lungs. A spot in the middle of her chest flared in pain. _'My heart, that's my heart. It's going to explode. Oh, my god, it's going to explode.'_ Her knees gave way. Her eyes met his and she saw that look again, that look that he had in his eyes when she had asked what he thought of her marrying Ron. She closed her eyes so that she would not have to see that fearful look.

Suddenly, heat flooded her system. She felt two strong arms lifting her off the arctic floor. Instinctively, she curled closer to his heat. The bands around her torso loosened. She sucked air into her deprived lungs. Her body slowly got back into a rhythm of breathing and pumping blood. Without any real effort, she timed her breathing with Severus' as if it was natural, acceptable. Her sobs faded away as he rubbed her back, muttering soothing nonsense into her hair. She shook her head to deny what he was saying. How can it be all right? Nothing ever is all right. Everything always goes south at the last minute.

"--mione, answer me. Hermione, what is going south on you? Hermione?"

"I'm going to lose the baby, aren't I?"

There was a moment of stunned silence. Hermione didn't really notice. The extremes of temperature had left her with a drained feeling. Having only three hours sleep, plus however long she was out this afternoon, was catching up with her. She was content to just rest her head on the Potions professor's shoulder and let him try to figure everything out. It had been too long since she had some decent sleep. Severus stiffened, then forced himself to relax.

"You're pregnant?"

She had barely nodded before Severus was standing up, taking her along with him. She let out a small sound of protest that he quickly shushed. Giving up to the approaching unconsciousness, she allowed him to take them wherever they were to go. He would not allow any harm to come to her. Besides, she couldn't muster the energy to ask where they were going.

"How did you get past your pride of men that refused to leave your bedside?"

"S'epin'," she mumbled into his neck. Her cold nose found the pulse point in his neck as her hands fisted in the soft material of his robes. She heard the creak of a door opening. After a whispered word from Severus, she heard the click of it closing again. "An' Bay's not a lion...tho' he in a Gr'fin'or of'en."

"I did not wish to hear that, Miss Granger." He set her down on something soft; too soft to be a hospital cot. He tried to move away from her, but her fingers held tight. "You must let go, Hermione. I have to get a blanket for you."

"Stay...please?"

He hesitated. She could feel the tension rolling off him. Even an arms-length from him, she noticed. It was almost as if he was torn. She forced her eyes opened to look at him. There was that look again. He had it when she had almost kissed him in seventh year. If it was not fear, it was a very close relative. It woke her up just a little bit.

"Please?"

"Where is the father, Hermione?"

"He wouldn't want to be a part of our lives. Please stay," she whispered, blinking tears away from her eyes, "if only for tonight." As if he had been waiting for that codicil, he shifted his weight back toward her. He let her curl up beside him. "Thank you, Severus," came her last words before sleep claimed her.

----------

"Are you sure we should bother him, Professor? Snape can be a real grouch when's he's disturbed."

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry. He may not be your professor anymore, but he_ is_ still a professor." McGonagall's tone was as strident as it ever was during her tenure as Transfiguration teacher. Blaise's hand shot out before the old witch could knock on the door to Snape's private quarters.

"Potter has a point, Headmistress, and this time, it isn't the top of his head. Severus would not take kindly to an intrusion on his sleep, particularly if that intrusion has something to do with a muggleborn student that he never liked in the first place."

"As her mentor, I'm sure Professor Snape would wish to help locate Hermione."

"And I don't have a point on the top of my head."

This time when the aging woman went to knock, Harry and Blaise were too busy squabbling to stop her. It took a moment before the door swung open. The childish fight came to a sudden halt as all three stared into the narrow opening into the snarky professor's room. Harry and Blaise glanced at each other hesitantly before following McGonagall into the Potions Master's rooms. Surprisingly, they were not greeted with a snarling Severus Snape. A worried look came onto McGonagall's face.

"It's only supposed to open automatically if Professor Snape is unable to answer the door."

"That sounds like something Snape would do."

"_Professor_--"

"Oh, _do_ be quiet, you trio of crackling hens," Snape interrupted in a loud whisper from another room. The trio pushed the semi-opened door more so, wide enough to see if Snape was dressed for company. After seeing that they were not going to see more of Snape than they currently wished to, they pushed the door opened farther. The room was clearly Snape's bedroom. It was not what Harry had expected. There was no green, no silver. None of the House colors had made their way into this room. Other than that, it looked like a dorm room. "You'll wake up Miss Granger. Considering that she could have gotten hypothermia last night, she's going to need what sleep she can get."

That was when they noticed her. Hermione lay curled up in a set of black teaching robes at Snape's side. The man in question was sitting near the edge of his bed with a book he must have been reading before he heard them talking. Knowing Hermione would ask later, Harry read the title--'Potions and Specialty Magic: What a Brewer Needs to Know'. But it wasn't the book that made his mouth drop open. That was done by the sight of Hermione and Snape in the same bed. Oh, sure, they weren't touching and Hermione had her back to the greasy git, but still...'Mione and Snape!

"H-how did 'Mione get here?"

"Well, she walked--with bare feet--down to the Advanced Potions classroom," Severus drawled. He crossed his arms above the book. "Then I carried her to the nearest place with some temperature above freezing. I informed Poppy where her ward had wandered off to a couple of minutes ago. Now, answer my question: which one of you is the father?"

"WHAT?"

The choked scream from the two retreating men made the glass of water on Snape's bedside table ripple. Hermione shifted in her sleep, pulling Snape's teaching robes closer to her. All four wand-weilders tensed at the movement. Only when the wild-haired witch had settled back to sleep did the conversation continue.

"My apologies," sneered the cantankerous Potions Professor, "I hadn't realized the idea of having a child with a beautiful woman was so repulsive to the pair of you."

"It's not that it's repulsive. It's just--That's Hermione you're talking about there, Severus."

"Yeah, she's like a sister. It would be too weird."

"I believe what Professor Snape was trying to ask was: who is the father of Miss Granger's child?"

"I don't think--"

"We know you don't think, Potter," Blaise interrupted before the Boy-Who-Lived could reveal more than Hermione wished to share. He turned his black eyes to the headmistress. "We aren't at liberty to discuss it. As Miss Granger's barrister, I have to request that this line of questioning be continued in my office during regular office hours. You may call my assistant on Monday."

"To quote Miss Tonks to Mr. Malfoy: 'Chill, little cousin," Severus said. The look on his face spoke volumes of what he thought of the phrase. An awkward tension formed between the two former students and the Head of Slytherin House.

"If Miss Granger feels that there is need for an attorney," the Animagus said soothingly, "then I'm sure there is need for an attorney." McGonagall pinned Blaise with a look that Harry knew well, that 'it-would-be-for-the-best-to-tell-me-everything-because-I-just-want-to-help' look. "Does Miss Granger believe there is need for a barrister?"

"We are not at liberty to--"

"Let's just get 'Mione to Madam Pomfrey. Zabini, can you get her?"

"Why do I have to carry her?"

"Because you're related to him." The other three occupants of the room stared at him for a moment. Harry rolled his eyes. "I rather not have any more headaches than I'm already going to have before the end of the day."

"Fine," her roommate conceded. He got her over Severus by levitating her before anyone could blink. With Hermione back in their possession, the twenty-three-years-olds left. The somber pair met up with the other members of Hermione's makeshift family in the entrance hall. The twins' triumphal trill echoed throughout the entrance hall, finally waking up Hermione. The five men eagerly told her that she had succeeded in meeting the deadline with at least nine hours to spare.

"Oh," she whispered. She looked back to the stairs leading to the dungeons. Familiar shadows hid everything pass the forth step from her sight. _'How was he taking it? What did he think of me having another man's child?'_ With a Herculean effort, she pushed the questions from her mind and straightened her back. _'Onward to the next problem. I will not lose my child.'_

"I want to tell Lanai by myself."

-/--/--/--/--/-

Over the years, Hermione would wonder about what she told the world about her pregnancy, usually in the rare peaceful moments after she had gone to bed, but had not yet drifted off to sleep. The question was always the same. Should she tell more than she did? Would it be safe? The entire Wizarding world knew that she had been ordered to move into Pendragon Keep by the Head of the Pendragon family.

It had been on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ the day after she finished unpacking the last box. The by-line belonged to a certain beetle with horrid glasses. It didn't surprise her that the same article announced that she was pregnant and eluded that the father was a particular attorney who also happened to be her roommate for six years. The next day had a picture of Blaise snogging Seamus in front of Gringotts. Harold Lovegood printed a full expose on the two men's relationship. Out of respect, he did not print anything about her pregnancy.

Overall, it was not bad a bad thing, living at the Keep. The Pendragon estate had wards that were almost as strong as those protecting Hogwarts. The grounds were nearly as expansive as the magical school's, but without the lake or forest. The Keep itself was huge. There was a section set aside for members of the family. For the first few months after she gave birth, Hermione never left those rooms. Thank Merlin, McGonagall sent her Winky. The house elf refused to accept any money, but was content with spoiling any children that came within her care.

Even when the going got rough, Hermione never regretted having her twins.

Twins.

She had not expected that to say the least. Neither had the medi-witch. Twins had never been born from the procedure before. The Granger twins were three before there was a conclusive answer for what happened. It all came back to a sneeze. So simple a thing, yet it meant so much to the Wizarding world.

Twins were rare, and thus special, in the magical community. Most magical infants died before they were a year old, girls especially. Between three major wars in a century's time and the difficulty accompanying the birth of a magical child, the Wizarding world was experiencing a decline in population. Twins were considered lucky by pureblood traditionalists for all those reasons and so much more. This thought pattern was reflected by magical law.

For the most part, identical twins (like Fred and George) were treated as one person. They alone were exempt from the Ministry's incest laws. Identical twins could even marry, if they obeyed the same laws as same sex couples. The latter could marry provided they had a Third (a member of the opposite sex) for procreation purposes. There was also no such thing as divorce. However, any marriage in pureblood circles was a delicate balance of politics. It took years sometimes to sort out the proper mixture of breeding, politics, and familial connections. Most of this research was done by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Only small laws had managed to pass restricting who could marry whom. However, some things not even identical twins could get away with.

Then there was the fact that the twins were magically conceived. When combined with their twin-ness that meant that they couldn't be separated by more than one wall until at least age five, if then. Some magical conceived twins could never be separated. Different spells had different effects. Hermione always felt that she was lucky whenever Eddie went to spend the night at Ginny's or Sera visited the Nest. She would never admit to sneaking out in the middle of the night to check on the wayward twin.

But the incident at the fair in honor of the tenth anniversary of the Final Battle was what really scared her. Somebody had tried to kidnap Seraphim. If it had not been for Severus Snape, Donovan would have gotten away with the small girl. All of Hermione's family had searched the fairgrounds while Hermione struggled to calm down the hysterical Eduardo. It wasn't long before the entirety of the two gypsy troops that were there had joined the search. But the Death Eater would have still escaped if it had not been for Severus' timely visit to the greenhouse for fresh potion ingredients.

There had been a horrible moment of time when the boys had shown back up without anything to show for an hour searching. Lavender had turned so pale that Draco and Harry forced her to sit on the steps of the Cooper lead wagon. Lanai muttered angrily about how she was going to maim whoever had the nerve to still one of her heirs. Hermione's gut had twisted as more of the Cooper and Prince clan s had shown up, all silently shaking their heads. Then Eddie had stopped screaming and that knot turned to ice.

"Sera," he whimpered looking over her shoulder. She heard those around them shifting. Lanai, Blaise, and Draco relaxed. Harry and Seamus came to attention, but not dangerously so. The gypsies were grabbing makeshift weapons. Those that were actually witches or wizards were drawing wands. All eyes were focused on the man making his through the crowd, a girl with wild black curls in his arms and an unconscious man floating behind him.

It was Severus Snape.

And he was surrounded by a protective ring of male relatives. Only little Seraphim's cuddling closer to him kept him from being skewer. The sight of the potion master holding their daughter had made her wonder if she should tell him that he was the father after all. She had spent hours on that question. In the end, she decided not to rock the boat.

It wasn't as if the twins wanted for a father figure. Between Blaise, Seamus, Neville, Draco, and Harry, that role was covered. Fred and George were there for those questions that only another twin could answer. Rity was hardly ever around anymore, but she did visit a couple of times a year. Even the muggle repelling wards on the Keep weren't enough to keep the Cooper troop from visiting occasionally. Lanai was very happy to play grandmother, as was Molly. Arthur took to being a grandfather like a duck to water.

Neville and Ginny were near constants at the Keep. The increasing number of Weasleys in a variety of forms made sure that the twins never lacked for playmates. Harry brought over his daughter Celestine every Saturday since she was born. At first, it was mostly to be babysat, but gradually it changed into a new version of her visits to the Nest. Draco didn't come often at first. He would use the day to visit his mother in Ward Forty-Nine at St. Mungo's. After Narcissa's death when Celestine was five, he started coming around more. In lieu of her friend, Lanai stepped up as a grandmother role for the motherless girl. It was hardly mentioned, but both men were thrown through a loop when Lavender died a few hours after her daughter's birth.

Time had worked out everything. The widespread group was now as much a family as any that was born. Some were bound by magic, some by love, and some by vows. Others were bound by friendship and challenges met together. Did it really matter that one bound by blood was excluded?

That really was such a small thing.

(--) End of Part One of Weaving Lives (--)


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